The Lannister sends his regards
by Anassat
Summary: Set after Cat's confrontation with Jaime after he was captured (and hit in the head with a rock). A mysterious man turns up to mock Jaime, seemingly knowing everything of the Lannisters - even the innermost secrets. After this, Jaime doesn't know what to think... Rated Teen for language.


Jaime was tired. His head hurt from the blow delivered from Catelyn Stark and the ropes tying him to his place gnawed his wrists. He didn't like this one bit. Being defeated by just a boy, by a kid from the savage North, tied down like a peasant and getting hit in the head with rocks by an old hag. He wished he could just have signalled Tywin somehow. Call him to get him out of there. His family had already killed Ned Stark – what do the others even matter?

"Whatcha thinkin' 'bout, boy?" he heard a man's voice from the darkness in front of him. Jaime lifted his head and tried to look out for whoever had spoken to him. "Thinkin' bout how yer kind killed the lord of Winterfell? Lookatye now, Jaime boy. So handsome. Obviously the Lannister I've heard about. Blondie and all. Kingslayer, was it?" the voice continued.

"Show yourself, coward. Or are you just settling to mocking me in the darkness, where I can't see you?" Jaime spat out. The man chuckled softly.

"Why the hell not, Kingslayer?" he said.

"It's a coward's way. Are you even going to tell me your name? Tell me, so I know who's head I have the honor to separate when I get freed."

Now the chuckling turned to laughter. "Aren't ye cocky! Lannisters seem to be. Even that son of yours, what was his name? Joffrey?"

"He's my nephew. My sister's son."

"That kid's head is blond like a haybale. Let me tell ye – he has no Baratheon blood. Or did ye just happen to fuck your sister blindfolded? I won't blame ye, I have always thought she looks like a cow" the voice mocked, the sound of footsteps telling Jaime he was coming closer.

"Listen, I don't know what you have drank or how much, but you're really getting on my nerves, staying in the shadows, questioning the king's inheritage and mocking my sister like that. Show yourself!" the Lannister yelled.

"As ye wish, my dear Jaime boy" the voice chuckled and walked forward. Jaime saw his worn boots, patched pants, old leather jacket – and then the man kneeled in front of him. For a split second Jaime though it was a bad dream.

He was looking at himself.

Blonde, shoulder-length, tangled and scruffy hair, blue eyes, scruff – and the face, even though worn, older and tired, so familiar he thought he was looking at a mirror. "Here I am, yer Highness. Are ye happy now?" the man said. Jaime stood frozen until shook his head lightly. "Is this some kind of joke? Because it's not funny at all" he said, trying to regain his dignity even when bloodied and shocked.

"Joke? Why would it be a joke, Jaime boy?" the man smiled.

"You're obviously here to taunt me. Look at you. Chosen by the Stark hag to mock me because you happen to look like me. It's not funny. So leave."

"Lady Catelyn doesn't even know I'm here."

"Who are you?"

"I have lived my whole life as Marc of no-one's house, known as Stormbay for where I have been raised. But I was destined to be Harry of the house Lannister... first-born son to Tywin and Joanna. But fate decided otherwise" the man answered. Jaime looked at him, completely silent before laughing, however insecurely. "Y-you, a Lannister? Liar. Why aren't you in King's Landing then? Why aren't you with your family, if what you speak is true?" he asked.

"I hear Tywin has a problem with deformities" Marc said, shrugging and sat on the ground in front of Jaime. "You're not an imp, there's nothing wrong with your face, you look like a human being" the imprisoned man said.

"Unlike our sister" Marc laughed.

"Shut up!" Jaime yelled and tried to pull himself free, without much success. "I'm just a little different. That's all. Apparently, Tywin had a problem with that" Marc continued with a more appropriate tone. "What the hell are you talking about?" Jaime asked. As an answer, Marc pulled off his gloves and lifted his hands for Jaime to see.

"Do ye understand?" he asked. In both his hands, he had seven fingers. All fully functioning and perfectly balanced. "What kind of son would this be with fourteen fingers, hm?"

"You don't make sense. Tyrion is a _dwarf_ and father didn't abandon him. Why would he abandon a boy with so little as too many fingers?" Jaime asked.

"It's easier to count the fingers of a baby than see if he's going to grow up or not" Marc answered and rose to his feet. "I'm not complaining. I get a way better grip from the sword like this. It'll come in handy when I clash against yer clansmen and knights... though I think I would manage anyways, seeing what yer men can do" he then smiled.

"You, going against Lannisters?" Jaime - still unsure if to believe this brother of his or not - said in disbelief. "Believe me brother, I'm much happier like this. If I die, at least I'm going to die knowing I fought on the right side. Sister fuckers, inbred bastards, spoiled brats, boy cripplers... how do ye manage?" Marc said and turned away, already taking a few steps. "So, that was it? You come, introduce yourself as my brother and then just leave?" Jaime yelled after him.

"Oh no, thank you for reminding" Marc smiled grimly and turned around, walking back and delivering a sharp kick in Jaime's chin. "That's for murdering the only man with sense and honor in this land. The Lannister sends his regards" he snarled, turned around and walked away, leaving Jaime tied down with another bruise in his face.


End file.
